


Please Gogh out With Me

by rainbow_nerds



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Disabled Character, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Skinny Steve, Speed Dating, Steve Rogers Feels, This was supposed to be fluffy I am so sorry I have no idea what went wrong, Tony stark means well, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-06-09 07:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6895510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbow_nerds/pseuds/rainbow_nerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's simple really, a combination of speed-dating and portrait drawing. We'll provide the pencils and the paper, and you get dating! Be careful though, one mistake could cause serious offense so have your excuses ready! -It's meant to be a caricature!! I ran out of space on the page! You just don't understand abstract art!"<br/>Steve liked to draw. He always had. In fact, when he was young, and idealistic, he had even entertained thoughts of becoming an artist. That was a long time ago.<br/>Bucky Barnes, on the other hand, was Definitely Not an artist.<br/>(In other words, I saw this event posted on my college's events calendar, and I immediately needed to write a Steve/Bucky AU, enjoy!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the original event page here: https://www.facebook.com/events/1231004760248983/  
> Much more angst than the title and summary imply.

Steve liked to draw. He always had. In fact, when he was young, and idealistic, he had even entertained thoughts of becoming an artist. That was a long time ago.

Today, he worked part time at a bar to cover the cost of his various medications. For quite a while, he was content with his ritual of eating, sleeping, working and hospital appointments, but then he had ran out of money, and he had to find some roommates. Before long, Natasha and Peggy had wormed their way into his life, persuading him to open himself back up. He was happy, for the first time in five years, and despite their determination to set him up on as many dates as they could, he returned home after each one with the same noncommittal shrug, before sitting down in front of the TV, leaving both Peggy and Natasha wondering what was holding him back.

And then they found his old art supplies.

Which was how, five years after his mother’s death, Steve found himself standing outside of some restaurant he had never been to before, holding a sketchpad and pencils, and staring at a poster advertising “Doodle dating!” which, Steve had to laugh, was  typed in comic sans above an image of Van Gogh photoshopped onto a tinder profile.

How did Natasha even find these places?

He was tempted to turn and walk away right then, but he knew that Natasha would find out, and he would much rather one night of discomfort to several weeks of Natasha’s patented death glare. He had been on the receiving end of that look more times than he could count, usually when he found himself in the emergency room after some dumb fight or other, and it was not something he wished to experience again. Sighing to himself, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Not knowing what to expect, Steve found himself seated at a table opposite another man, and being instructed to sketch him. Steve supposed that he was also supposed to talk to him, but he found he had nothing much to say, and instead focused on his drawing. There was something pleasant about finally sitting down to draw someone again, and Steve found himself startling back to reality ten minutes later, a partly completed drawing of the man who Steve realised he didn't even know the name of. The host, who had led Steve to his seat, was directing the pairs to swap sheets and discuss their drawings with each other. Steve froze. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but nobody, apart from his mother, had ever seen his art before.

Reluctantly, he tore the page from his sketchpad and slid it across the table, as his partner did the same. The drawing he held now wasn’t bad, by any standard, but it was clear the artist hadn’t had a huge amount of interest while drawing it. They made idle chit-chat for a few minutes, discussing shading and likenesses. Steve was growing more awkward by the second, his fingers itching to reach over and rip his drawing out of the stranger’s hands, when finally, miraculously, the voice of the host called them to switch tables. And thus began Steve’s latest venture into the world of dating.

Thanks, Natasha.

 

***

Bucky Barnes was not an artist. He never had been. Bucky Barnes liked to use his words. In fact, he had almost gone to study English literature and creative writing in college, but that wasn’t meant to be, unfortunately. Because more than he loved writing, Bucky loved his family. They may not have been wealthy, or particularly functional, but they were his. His father was unemployed, his mother chain smoked like it was 1938, and his little sister was a precocious overachiever. They may not have been perfect, but he had always known that he would willingly do anything for them, give anything for them, and, eventually, he did. It happened just as he was preparing to apply to college, when Becca decided she wanted to be a doctor. That day, Bucky made a decision as well.

Instead of sending out his college applications, Bucky went out and joined the army. He knew his parents would not be able to send the two of them to college, especially if Becca was going to med school. He sent home every pay check he made, and relished in every update he got on his two tours about Becca’s progress, and almost cried with joy when she told him she had gotten into her top choice college. Before long, he was Sergeant James Barnes, and Becca was well on her way to achieving her dreams. Two weeks later, he was caught by an IED blast, and the next thing he remembered was being flown home, one arm missing and no idea whether he would live or die.

When he finally recovered, he received a top of the line prosthetic for his troubles, and was in the process of learning how to actually use it. Which is why his physical therapist suggested he try drawing, to help hone his fine motor skills in a risk-free manner. A great idea, sure, but there was one issue.

Bucky Barnes was not an artist. Art sessions never failed to frustrate him, as he had never been great at using his right hand for anything, and his left was now made of metal and slightly difficult to control, surprisingly enough. The “instructor”, recommended by his therapist, acted helpful and considerate at the beginning, but before long, he was asking Bucky to work harder than his new arm was capable of keeping up with. He tried, he really did, but the lack of any real progress was frustrating, and Pierce didn’t help, refusing to allow Bucky to go at his own pace, and acting as though it was his own fault he couldn’t even draw a circle on his first attempt.

Finally, Tony Stark, designer of Bucky’s prosthetic, and somehow his only friend who wasn’t related to him, suggested he go to a new, “more relaxed” sort of art class. Bucky eventually caved, under the assertions that it would definitely be much better than Pierce, and he would be given more freedom to draw what he likes, and to meet new people to boost! Tony had conveniently forgotten to mention one tiny aspect of the “art group” he would be joining.

Bucky was not expecting to wind up in the middle of a speed dating night. With a silent curse to Tony, he pushed opened the door, figuring, at the very least, he could tell his therapist he had put himself out there, with the significant perk of avoiding Pierce for at least one session.

His first few attempts at drawing partners did not exactly go well. He tried to create a likeness of the person, only to either offend them, or make them express some sort of pity, or worse, admiration, for his drawing with his prosthetic. They would look at him, then at his drawing, then back at his arm, and point out just how brave he must be for continuing on with life with a disability. He just wanted someone to see him for who he was, rather than what his arm was made of. He was really regretting his decision to wear a t-shirt, rather than a long sleeved shirt or jacket, like he would usually wear if he knew his appearance would be important. His prosthetic was on show, and he was growing increasingly uncomfortable with each passing glance.

***

After several more encounters with men and women who very clearly had no interest in him, Steve stopped worrying about the dating aspect of the night, and instead focused on his drawing. He really had forgotten how much he loved drawing figures, and if he was honest, despite the lack of potential partners, he had to admit that this was the best time he had ever had at a singles event. Before he knew it, he was two hours in, and really enjoying himself.

The first thing Steve noticed about his next partner was that he was very attractive. His dark hair fell in his eyes, and there was something about the way his mouth was quirked which made Steve’s stomach lurch.  It wasn’t until he sat down at the table that Steve noticed the fact that his left arm seemed to be made of an intricate set of metallic plates, which shifted with his movements. His fingers itched to pick up his pencils and capture it, but he managed to introduce himself first.

“Steve. Rogers.”

“Hi, Steve. Call me Bucky.” Steve eyed the nametag, which clearly said _James Barnes,_ but decided not to comment when he saw the clear discomfort on the other man’s face. Bucky suited him better, anyway.

They both picked up their pencils, and began to draw.

Steve was silent, but unlike the other, uncomfortable and awkward silences he had experienced in the last few hours, this felt more companionable. He sketched the angles of Bucky’s jaw line, his piercing eyes which glanced up at him from time to time. Then he moved down to the arm, attempting to capture the way the plates shifted against each other, the way the fingers bent around the pencil to grip it, the delicate lines of the gears visible through a gap in the wrist plates. Before he knew it, the time was up once again, and he was being told to share his drawing. Bucky’s drawing was slid across the table, and Steve had to laugh. He supposed it was meant to be of him, but for some reason Bucky had drawn him as a stick figure, wearing a weird hat with feathers and stars emblazoned on it, and he was dressed in an  American flag for some reason but he was also curled over his sketch pad with a focused look on his face, with a speech bubble which read; “I’m Steve and I came to this speed dating thing to not talk to people, and also I thought I could wear a shirt with the American flag on it and not get teased for it”.

Steve’s laughter echoed around the room, and he had to admit that Bucky had a point.

“To be fair, I was not made aware this was speed dating before I got here,” he managed, between bursts of laughter.

And Bucky, seemingly surprised at this response, laughed along with him.

“Yeah man, I get it. Me neither, my… my pal Tony told me this was an art therapy thing, for… y’know…” He trailed off, indicating his arm.

Steve was suddenly nervous to show Bucky his drawing. The guy was clearly self-conscious about the prosthetic, and here Steve was with an intricate drawing focused predominantly on it. With a deep breath, he slid the paper across the table. Once again, Bucky fell silent, but this time Steve didn’t have his drawing to distract him. Bucky stared at the page, an inscrutable expression on his face, before tearing it out of the sketchpad and storming out of the room.

Without thinking, Steve gathered up both of their things, and followed him out, finding him sitting on the ground just outside. He sat next to him, leaving just enough space to prevent him from feeling threatened. They sat like that, in silence for a few minutes, before Steve decided to break the silence.

“I’m really sorry if I offended you, Buck. I should’ve realised you might be self-conscious about your arm, It’s just I haven’t drawn in a long time and your prosthetic is stunning and I couldn't help it and also, is that Stark tech because my roommate works there and I'm really sorry I shouldn’t have asked that please don’t hate me” He continued rambling his apologies, until he noticed that Bucky was no longer staring dejectedly at the street in front of him, but had turned to face Steve, an expression of something akin to awe spreading its way across his face.

***

Bucky was pretty sure his brain had just short- circuited. Because no way had this ridiculously attractive stranger seen his arm and thought it was stunning. That didn’t happen. Because his arm very much wasn’t stunning, it was heavy and awkward and never did what he wanted it to and sure, it was a technological feat, but it definitely wasn’t stunning. But Steve thought it was. He looked back down at the now slightly crumpled drawing in his hands. He examined the delicate lines, and soft curved contrasting with deep shadows within the arm. And somehow, he knew he had to try and explain himself

“It’s beautiful.” He choked out. It must have been the right thing to say, because when he looked back at Steve, the shorter man’s face had lit up. So he ran with it.

“Seriously, Steve, what do you mean you haven’t drawn in a long time, this shit is amazing! Honestly, this belongs in a gallery somewhere. You are amazing.” Steve was silent, and Bucky nudged him, prompting him to speak up.

When Steve met his eyes, Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat, and once again he found it hard to believe that a guy like Steve could ever see him the way he looked in that drawing. He leaned ever so slightly towards him, so that their shoulders bumped against each other, metal arm meeting Steve’s flesh. Steve’s eyes flickered down to his lips for a fraction of a second. It was so quick that Bucky had almost convinced himself that he had imagined it, but before he could overthink what was happening he felt Steve’s lips brush against his own, and they were kissing. It was soft, gentle, barely a brush of lips before they parted, but it left Bucky feeling on top of the world.

He was about to open his mouth to say something, but he had no idea what he could say, or if he was even capable of speech, but Steve beat him to it.

“I really enjoyed drawing you today. Do you think, maybe, we could do it again sometime? Without the crowds and the time limit?”

And Bucky agreed, despite the fact that he wasn’t an artist, and despite the hunk of metal attached to his left side, Bucky felt as though there was nothing he would rather do than let Steve draw him again. And if part of his mind hoped that he could get more kisses out of the deal, well, nobody needed to know that but him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wants to call Bucky.  
> He really, really does.  
> He just needs to figure out what he's going to say, is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is totally unbetaed, as with all my stuff (I really should find someone to beta...), so any and all mistakes are mine!  
> Also, I make reference to Steve's illnesses in a vague way in this chapter, I don't want to erase his illnesses but I also don't want to misrepresent them, so they are mostly going unnamed for the purposes of this story.  
> This chapter wasn't even planned. I'm not sure what happened to be honest.

Steve stared down at the sketchpad in his hand, the ten small digits written hastily in the corner of the sheet already memorised. It had been almost a week since they had been written, carefully scrawled by a hand that was still getting used to itself. He had intended to call Bucky several times since that night, but each time he picked up the phone, he found himself unaware of what he should say. He had typed out the number, even saved it in his phone, but had yet to work up the courage to hit that last button in order to make the call. He had attempted to sketch for a while, to take his mind off of the prospect, but each time his pencil touched paper he found himself sketching dark hair, stubble, and a glint of metal shining from a prosthetic arm. He closed the sketchbook and rested his head against the wall behind him. He would call Bucky tomorrow, he promised himself, before getting ready for his shift at the bar.

It was about two hours before closing when it happened. He always hated working late, especially as it was a Friday night. The crowds tended to get rowdy, and it usually ended with Steve attempting to break up a fight between guys twice his size. That night was no different. He was just about keeping up with the orders being shouted at him and Sam, his co-worker was dealing with someone who was yelling that they had given him a twenty and only got change for a five. And then he saw it. A girl at the other end of the bar, who looked barely old enough to drink, was sitting talking to a guy who was definitely older than her. She looked around, trying to find a friend, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. She met Steve’s eyes, just as he saw the guy drop something into her drink.

He darted towards her, a warning on his lips, but she had already taken a large gulp from the glass. Without stopping to think about it, Steve leaned across the bar and punched the guy square in the teeth. To his own surprise, as much as anyone else’s, the guy fell off his chair and slumped on the ground.

“I’m sorry, miss, are you alright? I saw him put something in your drink. Is there someone here with you?” Steve looked at her anxiously, ignoring the looks he was getting from those who had witnessed the incident, as Sam tried to clear that end of the bar in an attempt to give the now-unconscious guy some space. The girl shook her head, and blinked slowly before slurring an answer.

“I’m here ‘lone. Well. Not alone. Him. Worst date ever.” She gestured towards the guy on the ground, before slipping from her seat slightly. Shit. Steve glanced back at Sam who gestured for him to go help the girl somehow. Steve nodded and walked out from behind the bar, taking the girl by the arm and leading her towards the exit. When they reached the fresh air and streetlights outside, he sat next to her on the front step, and tried to figure out what to do.

“Do you have any family or friends nearby?” He asked, before checking her eyes for dilation. He resolutely did not think about how familiar their blue was, or how much the way her eyebrows scrunched up at the unwanted attention reminded him of Bucky. “What’s your name?”

“M’names Becca. I’ve got a brother, but my phone’s dead. Can’t call ‘im. Fuck, he’s gonna be so fuckin’ pissed at me, always hated that asshole.” At the word ‘brother’, Steve’s mind began racing. It was a long shot, but on a hunch he asked the girl – Becca, he corrected himself- what her brother’s name was. He was just trying to keep her mind occupied, right? Besides if he could contact her brother somehow… “Bu- James,” she giggled. “Bujames! Gettit? Cause it’s James, but it’s Bucky!” She continued giggling to herself, while Steve sat, unsure whether he should be thanking or cursing his luck. Of course she would be the sister of the guy he had spent the last week pining over.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled till he got to the letter B, finding Bucky’s name just as easily as he had for the last hundred times he had tried to work up the courage to call. He glanced at Becca to see her curled around herself on the step. There was no way she would be able to get herself home, and Steve had to go back in to help Sam with closing. Sighing to himself, Steve finally hit the call button.

***

Bucky was sitting at home, scrolling absently on his laptop when his phone rang. He rushed to pick it up, wondering who was calling him that late at night, and knowing it could mean nothing good. When he saw the unknown number on his screen, he contemplated not answering. If it wasn’t family, or Tony, it could wait. He was about to hit ignore when his mind flashed back to Steve, to writing his number ever so carefully on the page of his sketchpad, and he tapped the little green icon to answer. He didn’t even manage to express a greeting before the familiar deep voice was saying his name.

“Bucky? It’s me, Steve. I know I said I’d call sooner, but… Well, that doesn’t matter right now. You have to come to the Shield Bar, it’s a –“Bucky felt himself become slightly amused at the man on the other end of the call. Was he seriously asking Bucky to just meet him at a bar, at midnight? He didn’t sound as though he had been drinking, but Bucky figured it must have been a drunk dial of some sort. Despite seeing the humour in the situation, there was a part of Bucky that felt irritated at Steve for waiting so long to call, and then only doing so when he was, apparently, drunk in a bar.

“Steve, are you kidding me? You don’t call for a week, and now you’re just asking me to meet you at a bar like some kind of cheap hook-up? Honestly, I –“ But before he could finish his sentence, Steve was speaking again, and this time he sounded much more urgent.

“Buck, no, it’s not like that. I work here, it’s Becca, she –“All amusement and irritation left Bucky at the mention of his sister, immediately replaced with concern.

“What the hell? What about Becca? How do you know her, is she -?” Bucky’s mind raced to all of the worst case scenarios. Ever since she had moved to the city for her training programme, he had felt overly protective of her. She may be in her twenties, but she had always looked younger than she was. To Bucky, she was still the sixteen year old kid who he had gone to war for, and if she got hurt while staying with him, he would never forgive himself.

“She’s gonna be fine, Buck, some asshole decided to spike her drink, but he’s currently on the floor inside. You gotta come pick her up though, I have to get back to work soon.”

Bucky felt relief and gratitude flood through his body, and immediately grabbed his keys before darting out the door, only pausing to jot down the address Steve gave him before he was in his car, driving towards the bar. He got there in record time, probably breaking about a dozen traffic laws in the process, only to see Steve sitting on the steps of the dimly lit bar, his sister resting her head against his shoulder as though she had known him all her life.. Becca was speaking about something to do with one of her classes, Bucky heard her recite a list of complex- sounding chemical formulae before Steve caught sight of him and waved him over, a small smile playing across his face and relief flooding through his body at seeing that she was okay.

“Hey Bucky Buck! This is Steve! He’s, like - Just great. Sooooo great. He punched Brock in the FACE. Right in the nose!” Becca immediately began recounting what had happened in the bar, surprisingly cheerful for someone who had just been drugged by her date. She stood up shakily, and made her way to the back seat of Bucky’s car. She called out a slurred goodbye to Steve as she fumbled with her seatbelt and lay back across the seats.

“She should be fine, I don’t think she drank too much of it, just needs rest and plenty of water.” Bucky stared at the smaller man, who was trying to reassure him as best as he could. Bucky’s thoughts were racing around his head. Concern for his sister, awe at Steve for knocking out a guy who was probably twice his size, anger at Brock, who Bucky had known all along was a piece of shit, wishing he had said something to Becca earlier, not that it would have made much of a difference. Brock was an asshole, and Becca was as stubborn as her brother, determined to live by her own choices, and make her own mistakes.

Bucky had a sudden desire to reach for the smaller man, to kiss him as he had the week before, but he restrained himself. If Steve had wanted that, he would have called before it was an emergency. Ducking his head, he settled for thanking him profusely for helping Becca, before turning to go back to his car.  Just as he opened the door, however, he felt a hand touch his arm.

***

Steve wasn’t sure what made him reach out for Bucky. Maybe it was the fact that he had been pining for a week, combined with the exhaustion of working a long shift, or maybe it was the damned forlorn look that had spread across Bucky’s features before he turned away, but before he realised it he was holding onto Bucky’s flesh arm and trying to think of what to say to make him understand. Blue eyes looked into grey as Bucky turned back to look at him, questioning the touch. Steve couldn’t bring himself to let go, not until he had made Bucky understand, and gotten rid of the lost puppy expression on his features.

“I didn’t call because I was scared,” he finally admitted, softly.

“Why the hell would you be scared? I thought it didn’t bother you,” Bucky responded, the hurt on his features turning to a guarded, defensive expression as he shifted his left side away from Steve. “I wouldn’t have given you my number if I thought it had...”

“No, Buck, please! I was afraid that you’d reject me.” Steve shifted, looking uncomfortable, and gestured to his skinny frame in response to Bucky’s questioning look. “Look at me, I’m not exactly a catch. I’ve had more prescriptions in the last year than most people have in a lifetime. I’ve got issues for days, and honestly you deserve better than that.”

“And I don’t get a say in that? Look at you Stevie, you’re amazing. I want this. Want you. If you’ll have me. I’m not saying it’d be easy, fuck knows I’m a gigantic mess, and I’m probably more trouble than I’m worth, but if you are willing to put up with my shit, I’d like to give it a shot…” Steve was struck dumb. His mind was reeling at the words he had just heard, and he felt a smile spread across his face.

“Bucky, I… Of course I want it. I want it so much I convinced myself you wouldn’t. You are perfect, to me.” Tears were threatening to fill his eyes but he didn’t care, because this man, who he had only met twice, was willing to take a chance on him, and if he didn’t still have his hand on Bucky’s arm, feeling the solid warmth through his shirt, Steve would have thought he was dreaming. “How about you come over tomorrow? I could… I could cook, and maybe draw you again, like we said before?” A smile spread across Bucky’s face of pure joy and elation, before he responded.

“Honestly, Steve, that would be –“

“BUUUUUCK. Hurry up, I wanna go to bed!” His response was cut off by Becca moaning from the car, and the moment was broken. Steve let out a small huff of laughter at the surprise on Bucky’s face, followed by the guilt of briefly forgetting about her.

“Go on, bring her home. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Steve asked again, hopefully, and Bucky nodded eagerly as he stepped back towards the car and made to get in, both reluctant to break the contact. “You’ve got my number now, at least. I’ll text you my address!”

Steve smiled to himself as the dark haired man climbed into his car and closed the door. He remained where he was until the car was out of sight, before going back inside the bar, which was decidedly quieter than it had been the last time he was inside. There was a spring in his step that hadn’t been there before as he made his way behind the bar, and began to help Sam out taking orders.

“Took you long enough,” teased Sam, as though he knew exactly what had just happened outside. Steve smiled to himself, not even bothered by Sam’s sly looks, and managed to finish the rest of his shift before checking his phone and seeing a text from Bucky.

_Beccas fast asleep - will be ok in the morning. Thanks man. Ill see you tomorrow, is six good? xx_

And, as he typed out a reply, including his address, Steve was sure that the smile on his face was there to stay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I can see this having at least one more chapter, but it will probably be two, so keep an eye out for those!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finally gets his chance to draw Bucky properly, an they all live happily ever after (spoilers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, sorry for the delay! It took me a while to get settled back home, and then I had a little trouble writing this, but it's all done now, and thanks for your patience!

It was five forty-five, just fifteen minutes before Bucky was due to arrive at Steve’s apartment, and Steve sat in his kitchen, staring at the front door as if he could make the other man appear there by sheer force of will. He had tried on roughly six different outfits, annoying his roommates so much that they had left the apartment, telling him that he looked fine, and rolling their eyes at each other as soon as they were out of his sight. He finally settled on a blue flannel shirt with dark jeans – not his best clothes, but they fit him well, and flattered his small physique. Besides, he had mentioned possibly drawing Bucky again, and he didn’t want to get paint on anything more fancy. The smell of pasta sauce filled the apartment, making Steve’s stomach grumble a little, and giving him another reason to wish Bucky would arrive soon.

He was just about to go back into his room, to maybe change one last time while he could, when the doorbell rang. He felt a flutter in his chest as he buzzed Bucky into the building, and stood propping the slightly stiff apartment door open. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he heard Bucky climbing the stairs, humming a song he vaguely recognised as a cheesy jingle from some commercial which had been on TV the previous month. As soon as he was on Steve’s floor, Bucky smiled bashfully at him, clearly not expecting the blond to be waiting for him at the door.

As they ate, they talked about everything, and nothing. They had similar taste in television shows, but differed greatly on who they wanted to see take the Iron throne in the end. They were both agreed that Joffrey was a jerk, but Bucky was adamant that Daenerys would triumph in the end, while Steve was sure Jon Snow would get there first. Before they had run out of things to say, their dishes were empty and had been put in the sink to wash. There was a brief moment of silence before they spoke in unison.

“I know I said that I wanted to draw you, but I don’t want to pressure-“

“Is it weird that I’m excited for you to draw me? I’ve never-“

They both stopped, and laughed at themselves.

“Are you sure, Bucky? I know it’s probably weird, I mean I’ll basically just be staring at you for a few hours, and I mean, we don’t even know each other all that well, so-“ He trailed off, turning faintly pink.

Bucky, too, was looking bashful as he responded.  “Well, I… I’ve sort of been thinking about you drawing me again since the first time we met, and I… Well. I want you to. I really do.”

Steve felt a small smile creep onto his face as he nodded. “In that case, I’ll just go get my stuff. Um, make yourself comfortable. Whatever position you feel you can hold for a while.”

***

Bucky sat on the sofa, feeling a fluttering somewhere between his chest and stomach. He reclined slightly, and let his head rest on the back of the chair. Instinctively, he brought his left arm up, cupping the back of his head, and resting his elbow on the chair. The fluttering was getting worse, so he closed his eyes and took a few calming breaths. Despite his nerves, he felt oddly comfortable here, on Steve’s sofa, despite the fact that it definitely looked as though it had seen better days. When he reopened his eyes, Steve was standing in front of him, mouth slightly open, holding paints and paintbrushes in one hand, and a sketch pad and pencils in the other. Bucky made a move to help him, but before he had even sat up, Steve shouted “No!” with such force that Bucky felt himself freeze.

Steve deposited the art supplies on the chair opposite from the couch, before returning his gaze to Bucky. “This is perfect, do you mind if I…?” His hand reached out as though to touch Bucky’s hair, and he felt his head shake no, holding his breath as Steve moved closer. A hand brushed through the hair on his head, and pulled a few strands out of the ponytail which held it, letting them hang around his face.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as he realised just how close their faces were. If he leaned forward just a few inches he could close the distance between them and – But Steve moved away before he could even complete the thought. He shifted slightly on the sofa, careful not to move position too much, but very conscious of the effect that Steve’s proximity had had on certain parts of his anatomy. Steve had retreated behind his equipment, dragging an easel from the corner of the room, and placing the sketch pad on it. Silence stretched between them as Steve began to sketch a basic outline. Bucky felt himself squirm slightly under the scrutiny, causing Steve to remind him, more than once, that he needed to remain still.

“Talk to me. It’ll take your mind of staying still, and help you relax”

“Talk about what? It’s difficult to think about much, when you’re looking at me like that...”

“How about Becca? You two seem really close, why don’t you talk about your childhood or something? I never had siblings, myself” Bucky took a deep breath. Talking about his little sister would definitely help with certain problems he was having, at least. He could talk about when he was younger, the day Becca was born, or the times he had stopped boys for picking on her for getting answers right in class, or the time they had climbed on top of the garden shed at their grandmother’s house upstate, and stayed there for an hour while their parents searched for them, and the grounding they had suffered afterwards.

As he opened his mouth to tell these stories, something stopped him, and he knew that wasn’t what he had to say. Instead, he found himself talking about how he had changed his life to give her her best chance. About going to war and coming home missing a part of himself. About how he would never, despite the pain he had suffered, resent Becca for it. It was his choice, and every time he looked at her he knew that he would give his other arm too if it meant she could get everything she wanted out of life.

When he finished, there was silence in the room again. When he chanced a glance at Steve, he seemed to be struggling with something.  The silence stretched on longer and Bucky began to feel uncomfortable, his mind raced, telling him he had overshared and freaked Steve out. He should have stuck to the happy stories, kept things light, but somehow he knew that would have felt fake, somehow. “Please, Steve, please say something. I’m kind of feeling very exposed right now, and-”

Steve took a deep breath, clearly deciding something, and stopping Bucky’s voice.

“Growing up, it was always just me and my mom. Dad was a marine, and he was deployed when I was born. I never really knew him, and when I was four he was declared killed in action. I didn’t really get it, at the time, but they sent home some medals and his dog tags. That was all we got. Mom was heartbroken, but she never let it show, really. She just drew it. And I guess I started doing the same, in my way. She taught me just about everything I know about art, and when she got sick, I would go sit in her room and draw for her, because she couldn’t do it herself.

“I must have drawn and painted more in those few months than I had at any time up till then, but I never got tired of it. I guess I thought that if I could capture her in a drawing perfectly, then she couldn’t leave me. If I could do that one thing, then she wouldn’t die. It didn’t matter what the doctors said, I could save her if I just worked harder, just kept drawing and pushing through to her. I’ve never told anyone that before”, he laughed bitterly, “I just told her that I wanted to fill her room with beauty, before she left, and in a way that was true, but deep down there was always that need to do something, anything to save her. When she passed it was like… Like I had let her down, or failed her somehow.” His voice began to crack, but he pushed on through to finish his story. “I stopped drawing then. If it couldn’t save her then, it wasn’t any use to me anymore. Drawing was just too painful when she wasn’t there to show it to, and every time I picked up a paint brush I was reminded of my own failure. The day I met you, that was the first time I had drawn anything in almost five years.”

***

Steve didn’t even realise Bucky had moved from his seat on the couch until he felt a metal hand wrap around his shoulder, didn’t notice the tears on his face until a gentle hand wiped them away, and didn’t realise how much he had needed to say all of that until he felt both of Bucky’s arms wrap him in a crushing hug. They stayed like that for what felt like a year, until Steve had regained his composure enough to berate Bucky, half-heartedly, for leaving his position. When he happened to glance at his drawing however, he realised with some surprise that he was finished. It was just a sketch on paper for now, he would transfer it onto a canvas and paint it some other time, but for now, it was perfect. He had managed to somehow capture the vulnerability in Bucky’s face as he spoke about his sister, which contrasted with the relaxed pose to give an impression of deep intimacy to the image.

Bucky was staring at it in awe, seemingly unable to speak. Their arms were still half wrapped around each other, and Steve realised he had no desire to ever let go. Bucky turned to face Steve, and finally spoke.

“Is this really how you see me?” His eyes were full of disbelief, and Steve was faced with an urge to keep drawing him until he finally realised how beautiful he was. But that could wait, because right now he needed to do what he had wanted to do ever since their lips had parted as they sat on the pavement the night they had met, and reached up to close the distance between them. Their lips slid against each other as they each became lost in the other. It started soft, and the moment felt sacred, somehow. And then  Steve felt Bucky’s tongue brush against his lips, and heat began to pool somewhere inside of him, as his hand found Bucky’s hips and pulled him closer, kissing him open mouthed and hungry.

A moan escaped the taller man’s mouth and vibrated against Steve’s, and he lost himself in the sensations, feeling the hardness from Bucky’s jeans pressing against his hip as he moved his mouth up to nibble at Bucky’s earlobe. Suddenly feeling much more confident than he had in a while, he rolled his hips, letting him know that he was equally excited. Another sound left Bucky’s lips, but this time it sounded much closer to “Jesus, Fuck, Steve”, and Steve took it as his queue to begin peppering kisses further down, over his neck, to his collarbone, sucking a mark into the point just above the clavicle that made Bucky expel a string of curses and tangle his hands in Steve’s hair, pulling him up and kissing him furiously. This time there was no hesitation, no lingering, as Steve let his hands wander over Bucky’s body.

He slipped them up under the hem of the light shirt Bucky wore, feeling the coarse hairs which continued down under his belt, and pulled his lips from Bucky’s, bringing them back to that point on his neck. Large hands began opening the collar of his shirt, and it was soon slipped off his shoulders. The slight chill in the air contrasted with the heat from the body pressed against him, causing goose bumps to pop up across his skin. They stood facing each other for a moment, before Bucky pushed him gently so that he fell onto the couch. He reached out and let his fingers grab Bucky’s belt, pulling him down on top of him and allowing him to kiss his way across the pale, skinny chest which he had only recently begun to feel confident about.  He let his hands move up to begin unbuttoning Bucky’s shirt, whining pitifully as he felt the loss of the mouth which had just begun to brush against one of his nipples. Bucky was looking at him with a curious look on his face.

“Is everything okay, babe? We don’t have to do this, if you’re not ready. You can tell me.” Steve moved his hands from the top button and let them brush reassuringly across the broad shoulders and down his arms to tangle their fingers together, pressing a kiss to the knuckles of his hand.

“No, it’s not that, trust me.” Bucky let out a short laugh, and Steve let himself take in the puffy red lips, the marks on his neck, and the completely debauched appearance of his hair.

“I just don’t want it to come as a surprise. There’s… A lot of scarring there. From my arm. All down my left side, and across my chest, and my back. It’s pretty… pretty bad, and a lot of people are kind of grossed out by it, so I just wanted to… To let you know, before you saw it.” Bucky was frowning slightly, and Steve sat up, maintaining eye contact as he opened the top button of Bucky’s shirt, placing a soft kiss to the skin which was revealed. As he opened the next one, and the next, he continued placing kisses on the scarred tissue on the shoulder, the chest, and down to his stomach, until they were lying down once again, this time with Steve on top, and when he reached the final button, he slid the shirt off all the way, kissing his way back up.

“You.” He said, nuzzling at the point where the scars began at the waist. “Are.” He kissed the scars along his ribcage. “So.” The point where mottled flesh met shining metal. “Beautiful.” He brought their mouths together, repeating the words each time their mouths separated for breath, until he felt that Bucky believed him enough to begin kissing his way down again, this time spreading his kisses across the entire chest, memorising each scar, each freckle, and each movement of the beautiful man beneath him. This time, he didn’t kiss his way back up, but continued down, pulling at Bucky’s belt until it gave way and opening the button on the jeans which were just tight enough to have Steve longing to rip them off. Finally, he pulled down the jeans and boxer briefs in one movement, freeing Bucky’s cock from the tight constraints. Steve felt himself growing impossibly harder at the sight.

He let his breath ghost against the sensitive skin at the base, until he heard a whine coming from Bucky, who had propped himself up on his elbows, and was staring down at Steve, need etched on every one of his features. “Steve, please. Please.” Tilting his head up slightly, Steve caught Bucky’s eyes with his own, and held the eye contact as he licked a stripe along the underside of his cock, before swirling his tongue around the head. It was only when Steve broke the eye contract, and sunk his mouth all the way down, swallowing around him, that Bucky fell backward again, moaning loudly at the sensation. Steve continued to work him, teasing him before taking him in, drawing out every sound he could until his own cock throbbed at the lack of attention.

He made quick work of his own jeans, and took himself in hand as he continued to suck Bucky off. It wasn’t long before Bucky began to whine. “God, Steve, I’m so fucking close. Fucking-“, Steve swallowed him down deeper than ever, and hummed around his cock. Bucky came with a shout, and the taste of it as he swallowed was enough for Steve to follow suit, spilling onto his own stomach, and narrowly avoiding dripping onto the couch. It was all he could do to crawl back up and kiss Bucky once more, lazily, before he collapsed on top of him.

A metal arm wound gently around his waist, and he felt a kiss on the top of his head. He smiled lazily at Bucky, and felt his chest flutter. He didn’t know when someone had ever looked at him like that, and he would have been happy to stay like that forever.

Unfortunately, as he came down from his post-orgasm high, he suddenly remembered that Peggy and Natasha might return at any moment, and, reluctantly, he sat up.

***

Bucky felt the loss of heat as Steve sat up suddenly. He shot him a confused look, wondering if he had done something wrong.

“I have roommates”, Steve responded. “I don’t know how long they’ll be out...” And Bucky knew what that meant. He had thought Steve might be different, might actually see him as someone to keep around, but he didn’t let the hurt from the dismissal show. He sat up, as Steve moved off of him, not bothering to do up his pants.

“We should move this to my room”, he finished, and there was no hiding the flush of happiness which spread across Bucky’s face at that. He couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to Steve’s lips before helping to gather up the paint supplies, and their shirts, and carrying them into Steve’s room, before falling together onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and disposing of their remaining clothes as quickly as possible.

The next morning, Bucky woke to a feeling of loss, and it wasn’t until he looked to his right and saw that he was in a bed which somehow felt both unfamiliar, and better than his own, that he remembered what had happened the night before. He sat up, wondering where Steve had gotten to, but not worrying as he hunted down his clothes. He could have used a shower, but didn’t want to go looking around for one. A smile spread across his face as he remembered exactly why he was so sweaty. Pulling on his jeans, and giving up on his shirt, a delicious aroma reached his nose. It smelled like – he sniffed the air - Bacon and pancakes. He couldn’t stop himself from seeking out the source of the smell, and as he walked into the kitchen, a smile spread across his face at seeing Steve standing at the stove, wearing his shirt with a pair of boxers. He strode over and wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s waist, resting his head on his shoulder.

“Mornin’, baby” A blush spread visibly across Steve’s face and down his neck. He turned around, resting against the countertop he had been working at and bringing Bucky closer to him, pressing their lips together softly. They went about finishing the breakfast together, never quite managing to move too far from one another, and sat down to eat side-by-side, shoulders bumping and legs touching from hip to foot.

They were still sitting like this when Bucky heard the front door open, and a woman calling out for Steve, who immediately looked up, apparently surprised by the intrusion. He didn’t move, though, and by the time Bucky realised that neither of them were fully dressed, a stunningly beautiful redhead was walking into the room.

“Morning, Rogers, good night?” She asked with a wink. Bucky, having recovered from his surprise, suddenly realised that she looked oddly familiar.

“Natalia? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I live here, James. Catch up.” She rolled her eyes at Steve, as though they were sharing a joke, although Steve looked just as surprised as Bucky felt, and his mouth was moving as though he was trying to speak, but didn’t know what to say.

 “You… You know each other?” He finally asked, looking between the two, and Natasha was obviously fighting a grin as Bucky explained.

“We work together, I mean… She works for Stark, and I guess, technically I do too, so. Wait, but you said your roommate works for Stark Industries, I should’ve seen this coming! Natalia always manages to worm her way into your private life, doesn’t she?” At this point, Bucky had recovered from his shock, and Natasha stopped fighting her grin.

“Well, looks like you two were enjoying yourselves, so I’d better be off to work. I just stopped by to pick up my bag. Besides, Peggy and Tony will definitely want to hear about this.” She picked the bag up from where it rested by the door, and turned to walk away, and Bucky just about caught her last addition as the door swung behind her. “Thanks, boys, you’ve just won me a hundred bucks!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I've never written anything resembling smut before, so I was very nervous about posting this. I hope it was okay! Constructive criticism is more than welcome xxx

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at: theyseemefangirlintheyhatin.tumblr.com


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